On top of everything else, a flu bug seemed to have been chasing her for the past few weeks. No, it hadn’t caught up yet, and Susan had no intention of falling ill. She’d beat the damn thing with vitamin C and sheer willpower, because the thought of even trying to cope with Griff’s kids if she weren’t healthy…
Which you are, she insisted to herself. Healthy as a horse. Strong as a mule.
Vulnerable as a buttercup. Oh, shut up, Susan.
***
Susan stretched as she got out of the car and shook herself. She’d been on her feet most of the afternoon, and the kinks had settled in the most unreasonable muscles—like where she thought she hadn’t any. She gathered her purse and raincoat and started toward the house, wincing the moment she opened the door.
Pop music was music, wasn’t it? Actually, it might be. It wasn’t the kids’ fault that her father had raised her on Debussy. The album cover for this particular CD showed two half-naked men who shaved their heads and wore pancake makeup, and at this point, she thought she deserved the Medal of Honor for being able to identify the CD cover that went with the raucous sounds coming from the living room.
She glanced into the kitchen and unconsciously winced again at the sight of the dirty dishes scattered around the counters in a long trail that spilled over onto the table. Unbuttoning her coat with one hand, she picked up the milk with the other to return it to the refrigerator before it spoiled. Then she put the little heap of cookies back in the cookie jar and replaced the cover. Filling up the sink with soapy water, she rapidly gathered glasses. Three children. Eleven glasses. That kind of mathematics seemed to come with teenagers. Oh, yes, she understood all about the adolescent herding instinct… At least, come ten o’clock, she’d know where her children were—not to mention an assortment of other people’s children.
When she opened the closet door to hang up her coat, her arms automatically reached out for the avalanche of jackets that cascaded down on her. Hangers were boring. If one shoved one’s jacket in the closet and rapidly closed the door, obviously no one would know. After neatly hanging up the jackets, Susan hurried into the bathroom to run a brush through her hair and wash her hands; then she reached out for a towel.
There wasn’t one, of course. Why did she persist in expecting to find one? Obviously, you used a towel only once, and then you tossed it down the chute. Fastidious personal cleanliness, filthy personal habits—that whole scene seemed to come with teenagers, too. At first, Susan had been rather bewildered by the mound of towels that seemed to mysteriously mate and multiply by the washing machine. She was learning.
Vigorously shaking her hands to dry them, she dared to venture closer to the living room in spite of the music assaulting her eardrums. Four lithe bodies were stretched out on the carpet, with Barbara, center stage, making up the fifth. Susan saw no purpose at all in entering the room, other than to pass through and use the excuse to touch Barbara lightly on the shoulder en route. A hello kiss was not yet appropriate, but every once in a rare while Susan got the impression Barbara was waiting for her to walk in.
Books littered the carpet; so did CDs, shoes, assorted jackets and, of course, more glasses.
Susan assured herself that she would have plenty of time to clean it all up before Griff came home. She had an hour and a half left. Way back when, she didn’t know how much she could accomplish in ninety minutes, but she was becoming a master of fifty-two pick-up. And the point was that Barbara should feel free to have her friends over. The point was not a little extra housekeeping. She’d told Griff she liked homemaking, right?
She poked her head into Griff’s study, to see Tom folded up with a book. He lifted his head long enough to utter, “Hi, Mom-Two,” before lowering his eyes again.
“Everything go okay at school?”
“Par.”
“Where’s Tiger?”
“Upstairs.”
Tom could be very talkative, when he wasn’t concentrating. His boots weren’t going to mar Griff’s desk, because they were rubber-soled, she reminded herself. After throwing a “Home, Tiger!” up the stairs, she rushed back to the kitchen to finish the dishes. She paused in the middle of that task to hurry downstairs and toss a load of towels into the machine.
Before she could take the first step upstairs to change her clothes, she paused, suddenly frantically remembering that she hadn’t taken a thing out of the freezer to thaw for dinner. Dinners for five refused to appear out of nowhere. With just Griff, it had been different. On a rough day, they had simply gone out, or Griff had brought home Chinese delicacies; otherwise, they had simply put their feet up for a while and later fixed something together over wine. Now that she left the shop at three o’clock—usually—she’d made a point of telling Griff he no longer needed to help. Griff liked to cook, but it seemed far more important that he spend his free time with the kids, and he’d been working such long hours lately…
“Susan?”
Tiger’s face appeared at the top of the stairs, and her face relaxed. “Hi, sweetie.”
He was all excited, all big eyes and laughter. “I’ve got the neatest thing to show you.”
She followed him, laughing at his bouncing impatience. Dinner would have to wait. “Come on,” he insisted. “Hurry up!” At times like this, when he was so eager to share, broken cookies—and even broken heirloom—vases were mere bagatelles.
Up the stairs, past Tom’s room—Lord, what a mess—past Barbara’s, which surpassed any destruction a bomb could cause, and finally into Tiger’s. Toys as well as school clothes littered the floor, but Susan reminded herself that there was still plenty of time to get it all back in place before Griff came home.
“You’re just not going to believe this,” Tiger informed her.
She didn’t. The hamster cage had been relocated from the basement to Tiger’s room the day Tiger moved in. The project had not worked out quite as Susan had expected. She was the one who cleaned the cage four times a week and fed the animal that happily bit her each time. She had anticipated shared responsibility…but no, she hadn’t pushed it, because not a single rule had been imposed on Tiger in Sheila’s house. In time, she kept thinking. This extra work, like all the rest, was largely her own doing… Susan understood that, but something inside her refused to admit that in trying to make the kids happy and easy and comfortable she had dragged herself into a pit she couldn’t get out of. Children needed consistency, and she’d consistently indulged them, so… There must be a fallacy there, but who had time to analyze?
Crouched down next to Tiger, she stared in horror at the hamster cage. The one little animal had turned into seven. The six smaller creatures were tiny and hairless and ugly.
“I thought you had to have a boy and a girl to have babies,” Tiger speculated.
“I did, too,” Susan replied dryly.
“Isn’t it neat?”
Susan had loved animals from the day she was born, but all she could think of was the seven bites she would get from now on, every time she put her hand in the cage. “Neat,” she agreed, hoping it sounded convincing.
“I’ve been watching the whole thing. But I still don’t get it. I thought you had to have a father and a mother. How could she have the babies without a father?”
“Hmm.” Not an impressive answer. Susan rallied. “If we’d bought the animal from a pet store, this probably wouldn’t have happened,” she explained. “But I got this hamster from an ex-friend. There must have been a father and mother together at one time.”
Tiger wrinkled his nose. “What do you mean—ex-friend?”
“That’s very involved,” Susan said vaguely. No wonder Beth Smith had been frantic to find a home for the damn hamster! She rocked back on her heels. The smell from the cage threatened to overwhelm her, and she had cleaned it the night before.
“We’ll have to have more cages,” Tiger said in a rare burst of practicality.
More cages to clean. Susan closed her eyes wearily, but then opened them, her eye
s suddenly soft on their youngest child. How many women would have killed for such an endearing kid? Suddenly, Susan was overpowered by a sense of blessing. “Pretty special, watching them being born?” she questioned.
Tiger nodded, still speaking in whispers. “I was even scared to breathe.” Those beautiful eyes darkened. “I told Barbie to turn down the stereo because I was afraid the noise would be upsetting to a new mother. Barbie said the whole idea of hamster babies was stupid.”
Susan grabbed his shoulder and drew him close, kissing the top of his head. He had such sweet-smelling hair, her boy, all boy. “It isn’t in any way stupid,” she reassured him, meaning it. For a short moment, she even felt reassured herself, in a completely different way. There were times all the turmoil was completely worth it. She recalled suddenly the Sunday morning all five of them had been at the breakfast table, and Tiger had gotten a fit of the giggles that infected all of them; the time Tom had talked with her until three of the morning, about politics and feelings and perfect worlds; the times Tiger snatched up a hug out of nowhere; the times even Barbara ventured out of her hostility to just girl-talk; the night Griff had taken them to McDonald’s and somehow forgotten his wallet and she and the kids had dredged up every last penny they had, even Tiger… This moment to be cherished was with Tiger, and she wouldn’t have cared if he’d dragged her out of bed at three in the morning to see his hamsters being born.
“I really think we better change her name from Archibald,” Tiger whispered.
“I think we’d better,” Susan agreed.
The music from below suddenly stopped. Susan’s ears felt as if they’d been offered a reprieve from torture. Stretched out in front of the cage, whispering with Tiger, she never heard the footsteps in the hall, only belatedly saw Griff suddenly appear in the doorway—after Tiger whirled and bounded to his feet. “Hey, Dad! Come see this!”
Griff strode in, crouched down between them and peered obediently into the cage, commenting with all the appropriate hushed enthusiasm that was required of him. His manner was calm and easy, as it almost always was with the kids. Only Susan, so sensitive to Griff’s moods, felt the undercurrent of tension emanating from him.
“You’re home early,” she remarked, delighted he had not had another late night of labor negotiations. Perhaps that delight was what had eclipsed all consciousness of what he must have seen on his way from the front door to Tiger’s room, she would speculate later.
“I’m home early,” he agreed. His eyes met hers for the first time, and held. He was furious. She didn’t need it spelled out.
He vaulted to his feet in one lithe movement, snatching Susan’s hand to bring her to a standing position whether she particularly wanted to get up that minute or no. “You’ll watch your charges for a few minutes while I have a word with Susan, won’t you, Tiger?” He asked lazily.
“Sure!” Tiger’s eyes were riveted on the cage; he didn’t even look up.
Five fingers forced their way between hers; Griff’s without question being the stronger and larger. She didn’t mind being hustled into their room. The door closed between them and chaos with a distinct snap.
Chapter 12
Griff released Susan’s hand. His suit jacket hung open; his hands were hooked on his hips and one leg thrown forward. “Are you going to tell me how the hell long that circus has been going on?” he demanded furiously.
“Griff. I…” If her pulse weren’t beating so fast in her throat, she could probably think. Anger radiated from him, and yes, her man had an occasional burst of temper… She had just never expected it to be directed toward her. “If you’re talking about the house…” she started uncertainly, now recalling the sight that would have greeted him on his journey to Tiger’s room. “It would normally have been cleaned up by the time you got home. You’re early, Griff, for heaven’s sake. I just got home myself.”
He knew that. And for two seconds, Griff debated between shaking her and putting her to bed. He didn’t give a hoot in hell about the chaos in the house. It was the exhausted circles under her eyes that tugged at his heart. He had suddenly deduced that she’d applied fresh makeup to cover them before he came home every night during these past weeks. Preoccupied with labor negotiations, he’d never dreamed he was coming home to smiles that had been freshly manufactured for his benefit. Now he saw her without the lipstick smile, without the smoothing over of circles and fatigue lines. And the sight of Susan, exhausted and anxious, cut him to the quick. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growled.
“Griff…”
“It’s a damn good thing I am early for once,” he snapped. He loved her, now more than ever, but it was for her own good. “We’re going to get a few things straight here, and very quickly, Susan.”
He stalked out of the room before she could say anything further. She heard him barking for Tiger, then striding down the hall and taking the stairs like a general. Not a general. A Viking, because Griff was not quite as civilized as a military man with a machine gun in his hand in the middle of a war.
Tiger shot out of his bedroom, casting a startled glance in her direction before vaulting down the stairs two at a time. She heard “Barbara!” and a moment later “Tom!” Then there were doors closing, silence and more doors slamming. She stood in the doorway to their bedroom, her arms clasped under her chest, her mind not really at all sure what was going on…and not absolutely sure she wanted to know.
By the time Griff stalked up the stairs again, there was total silence below. His shoulders filled the space in the hall as he strode toward her, his brown eyes still like kindling on fire. His voice rivaled thunder. “They’re gone,” he spat out. “Tom will take charge for at least two hours. He’s leading the parade to McDonald’s—the one next to the video-game arcade. Which is neither here nor there. You and I are going to talk. Right now.”
“I—”
“And first, you are going to sit down and relax, Susan. Dammit,” he added distractedly. “How the hell long has this—sit down. We’re going to cover the subject of kids once and for all.”
He stopped raging the instant he realized how white her face was. He took his temper for granted, having grown up in a family of volatile personalities; with four children and two adults, shouting had been the only way to get heard. Only…Susan heard in whispers—he’d forgotten that. And she was standing in front of him like a fragile nymph with huge eyes, sick with anxiety. “Susie…”
She took a breath, her first since he’d reappeared. “Griff, we all need time. It’s not an easy transition for the children, and I’ve only been trying—”
“I know exactly what you’ve been trying to do,” he fired back. He’d handle his brood. He loved them, but if they didn’t know a nugget of gold when they saw one, they had a swift lesson coming. Only a fool could fail to see how precious Susan was. Well, he might raise monsters, but he had no intention of raising fools. But his concern wasn’t just for the kids. He couldn’t bear to see Susan, a full rose in the sun, shrinking back to the tightly closed bud she had been when he’d first met her. Hiding her feelings, keeping them walled up tight…
Confused and upset, Susan stood perfectly still as Griff took a step toward her. He blamed her for being unable to control the children; she knew that. And she was guilty; there was nothing to say. Except, Griff, would you please stop looking like a volcano about to erupt? I can handle ninety-seven loads of wash a week, but I can’t handle your anger.
Yet…for a furious man, his fingers, when they undid the first button of her blouse, were exquisitely gentle. “You’re going to put on a robe. And get your feet up.” The dictatorial growl was again contradicted by his gentle fingers on the second button. And the third.
Griff pulled her blouse out of the waistband of her skirt. She stared up at him bewildered as he untangled the gold chain at her neck, letting the delicate necklace fall into the hollow between her breasts before slipping the blouse from her shoulders. He had very dark eyes, her Griff, r
adiating a thousand vibrant emotions. Anger was not the only one, suddenly.
“Griff…”
“You’re going to get some rest. You’re exhausted. I’ll go down to the kitchen and make us some sandwiches, and then we’re going to talk, Susan.”
He glared at her, as if waiting for opposition. She wasn’t about to argue with his master plan; she was just rather startled by it. The last she knew, Griff was furious; now he was talking sandwiches. And then he wasn’t…talking. It took several seconds for him to locate the button of her skirt. Most of her skirts buttoned on the side; this one buttoned in back. He pushed her head to his chest as he unfastened the garment. The blue wool skirt slid soundlessly to the floor and lay there in a rumpled heap. It cost an arm and a leg to have the cleaners press wool skirts; Griff didn’t seem to care. Not about the proper care of wool skirts, not about children, not about the debris downstairs, not about anger.
She was still trying to grapple with his change of mood when his hands hesitated, resting on her hips over her cream-colored slip. Those hands suddenly turned caressing, slowly moving up to her ribs and over her lace-trimmed bra to the hollow of her throat. As his thumbs teased her chin up, his movements were all slow motion.
Looking at him, she felt a shiver creep along her skin, raising her sensitivity to his touch. Damn, she felt vulnerable. He was still fully dressed in a suit, her massive Norwegian man with his dark, searing eyes.
It had been a very long time since they’d made love. She didn’t know why the thought struck her, when it was so obvious that neither of them was in the mood. Griff was furious, and she was miserable…and other emotions seemed to have come from absolutely nowhere. He peeled off his suit jacket, his eyes never leaving hers. He tossed it on a chair; his shirt followed, then his belt. The pile of clothes on the floor kept growing.
Trouble in Paradise Page 14